Master of the Hunt
by InquisitorMikhailovich
Summary: This is my DC Cinematic Universe self insert fanfiction. It involves, Batman, Nightwing, Cyborg, two of my side OCs, and my self insert, Huntmaster. The must fight to stop a terrifying alternative future...
1. Part I

2100 Hours, Blüdhaven Harbor

Nightwing lithely lighted on a crane just as the scene below was getting interesting. Cocking an eyebrow, he almost immediately cued up communications with his old mentor.

Bruce Wayne accepted the call, relegating the video feed to one of the periphery screens of the Bat Computer.

"Dick, how's it going?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Camping out in the freezing cold. Isn't Deathstroke in Arkham right now?"

Bruce glanced over at the screen, making momentary eye contact, before pulling up the file on Slade Wilson.

"He should be. Why?"

"Cause I could swear I'm seeing him in Blüdhaven."

"Is that so?"

"Yes sir. He's breaking into a shipyard warehouse owned by a wealthy family here in town."

"Well, wrap him up. I have more important things to be doing, Dick. Unless you don't think you can handle him?"

Nightwing snorted.

"Please, I was besting this guy back when I was Robin. I just thought you might want to come pick him up when I get done with hi-"

Just as Deathstroke managed to rewire the gate such that it would open, the air was filled with an acrid and implacable smell. Nightwing's communications promptly cut out as a massive wind picked up, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a small craftappeared with a blast of light and a thunderclap. roughly conical in shape, with no windows and three wings. Like a stone across a pond, it skipped through the now open gate and across the open space of the compound, destroying various trucks and equipment in the process. Its manic progress was only brought to a halt when it smashed brutally into one of the warehouse walls, crumpling like an aluminum can.

"It's rude to hang up, you know."

"That wasn't me."

Without bothering to explain further, Nightwing held out his arm, providing Batman with ample view of the unfolding scene. As Deathstroke made his final approach, a small section of the pod ejected itself, and a young man all but fell out on the ground.

He had short blonde hair and Caucasian skin, and Nightwing could see, even from his high vantage point, that the young man had piercing eyes. His build was perfectly nondescript, neither fat nor thin, muscular nor wiry, and he wore a tattered military style overcoat. It was hooded, was missing the left sleeve, and had numerous darker patches that evidently once bore insignia of rank. His left shoulder, left bare by the missing sleeve, bore a large scar that was a combination of burns and cuts forming the capital letter "H."

He fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily as if he'd just finished a marathon, and Deathstroke promptly leveled his sword behind the young man's neck.

"Next time, don't intrude on my job."

The words should have paralyzed the young man. Nightwing was within a wair of dropping down to save him when the unexpected happened.

The young man's head jerked sharply to the right, and his hands curled into tight fists. The expansion and contraction of his breath became spasmodic enough to be visible on Batman's screen. Then, his head fell limp for an instant.

Deathstroke's god eye narrowed.

Then the young man's hear jerked sharply around, an inhuman expression of contempt on his face. His irises were suddenly glowing orange.

"Target aquired."

Two words, simple, not special in any way, and yet somehow they made Nightwing's blood run cold.

Almost too quickly to see, the young man's arm snapped around, knocking Deathstroke's sword from his hands. A brief contortion of the young man's torso pushed the momentum further, flipping himself into a standing position just out of Deathstroke's reach.

Almost immediately the two engaged each other, Deathstroke whipping out his staff, but the fight seemed almost slanted. Deathstroke could hardly get a hit in as the young man dodged and weaved around hisblows in a manner that was simultaneously sinewous and robotic, striking blow after blow. Somehow, he appeared to be wearing the impervious Deathstroke down.

Nightwing watched, somewhat amazed at the fight unfolding before him.

The young man outpaced Deathstroke quickly, and had disarmed him before several seconds had passed. A flurry of blows ensued, Deathstroke flipping his opponent over his landing, the orange light in the young man's eyes flickered.

He rolled out of the way of Deathstroke's next attack, a downward kick that would have smashed his nose, before sweeping the mercenary's feet out from under him.

Up until this point, Nightwing had been conflicted about getting involved, but there was something in the mechanically murderous look in the young man's eyes that compelled him towards intervening to save his past nemesis. For some reason, blows that wouldn't have slowed Deathstroke previously appeared to be inflicting permanent damage on the merc.

He lept down from his crane, landing behind the young man.

"Hey! Trench coat! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The young man turned, eyes flickering to green for a moment before flaring orange again.

"Superior combatant detected. Contest realigned."

The words sounded synthetic, but Dick had no time to reflect on this as the young man savagely charged toward him.

I a flash his weapons were in his hands, and he readily parried several punches and kicks with them, before delivering a two handed blow across the young man's face. He should have been knocked unconscious.

Insteadthe young man spun a full three hundred and sixty degrees to deliver a punch while Nightwing's guard was all the way to one side, but somehow, for the briefest of moments, the young man's eyes flashed blue and… Fearful.

"Help m-" he gasped out, pulling the punch slightly, and missed Nightwing's face by a fraction of an inch, but his eyes reverted almost immediately to an angry orange.

Nightwing didn't know or care what this kid wanted help with. All he knew was that he had an opening, and he took it. He slammed home a staff into the kid's stomach, taking his breath away. Another flash of blue, another hesitation, and another brutal blow, and soon the young man was on his knees, gasping for air and clutching one arm that hung limp.

He looked up, no lights in his eyes, and gasped, "Thanks-" right as Nightwing knocked him unconscious with a blow to the temple.

"Bruce, I think you're going to want to come check this out…"


	2. Part II

2300 Hours, the Batcave

Once Deathstroke was safely locked up in Arkham, an unmasked Dick Greyson stood beside a stil masked Batman, watching over the unconscious young man from behind one way glass.

"What do you think?"

Batman simply shrugged in response to the question.

We don't have enough information. All we know is he beat Deathstroke, which isn't terribly difficult for a skilled fighter."

Dick shot his masked mentor a tired look. Batman didn't acknowledge it.

"He's not wholly human, Bruce. His eyes were glowing orange when I fought him, but they flickered blue right before I knocked him unconscious. His voice sounded synthetic. I think it's some sort of technology implanted in him."

At this Batman cocked an eyebrow.

"Continue."

Dick looked away and sighed.

"I don't have any other evidence. I didn't even know he existed until a couple hours ago."

Bruce Wayne glanced at his first protégé.

"Dick, you're doing well. Don't beat yourself up because you don't have much information."

Both turned their attention back to the young man, barely old enough looking to be called more than a boy.

About that point, he groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes, there was a brief glint of white across his left pupil, and the boy groaned. Batman and Dick didn't even need the feed from the bugs in the room to tell the exclamation on his lips.

"Crap. Not again."

Dick raised an eyebrow at Bats.

"Well, I doubt he's putting on a show. Looks like he was under someone else's control, eh?"

"Possibly."

The young man tiredly glanced around the room he was in, nodding to Dick, as if showing deference, before locking eyes with Batman. After about three seconds, his head jerked to one side and his eyes snapped shut.

After several seconds of twitching, they opened again, the same murderous orange. For the second time, he uttered the words, "Target aquired."

Batman took half a step back.

"He must be able to see through the glass. Dick, go to the Bat Computer. Monitor the kid from there. I'll handle this."

Dick did as he was told, shoving his mask onto his face and rushing from the turned back to the glass in time to catch the next punch, splintering yet more of the glass. He didn't flinch.

The young man drew back for a third punch, his knuckles bloody by this point, and Batman dropped his chin half a degree, the barest hint of aggression about his features.

The next punch went through the glass, shattering the majority of the window. Batman sidestepped the punch with blinding sped, grabbing the young man's arm at both the elbow and the wrist. In a millionth of a second, he unbalanced the young man's momentum such that he flew forward through the window, getting several dozen more cuts to both his skin and clothes in the process.

He landed with the same sinuously robotic motion that had bested Deathstroke.

A moment later he lunged, speaking under his breath.

"Target confirmed - Bruce Wayne, A.K.A. Batman. High profile resurgent. Elimination priority - maximum."

He flipped over Batman and grabbed his shoulder pads, slamming both bodies through what little glass tenaciously clung to the window frame. Neither seemed phased by the blow.

However, they were right back where Batman wanted them to be.

"Dick! Scan us!"

Back at the Bat Computer, Dick hesitated, but ultimately his trust of Bruce won. He hit the button.

Immediately the grappling duo were bathed in x-rays and other sophisticated scans.

As soon as the computer beeped, "Scan complete," Batman whipped out a minuscule knife and jammed it into the young man's chest, delivering a massive dose of sedative directly into his bloodstream.

The young man staggered backwards, reeling. His eyes slid shut, and he was still for a moment.

Then he struck again, eyes still mostly shut. His movements were suddenly jerky and robotic, cumbersome. Batman had no trouble deflecting them.

Then, when it became evident that the assault wouldn't be stopping of its own accord, he delivered a wicked left hook.

The young man spasmed and crumpled to the floor.

Batman straightened.

"Alright, Dick,. Get down here. I want to know what that was."

He stared down at the now limp body.

"And I need to find whoever informed him."

"Yessir. Printing out the report now."

Batman hauled the young man up onto the table, this time strapping him down. Dick entered the room just as he was finishing.

"I assume we got what we needed?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I think so. Was that part of the plan?"

"No, but it was fortuitous to be able to get a combat scan of him. Any of his powers would have been active."

Dick rolled his eyes, which was quite an expression with the mask on.

"Here's what your scan got. It seems too fantastical. Are you sure this is a functional device?"

"Dick, just read it."

"Alright, alright. His skeleton appears to have been reinforced with a gold-titanium alloy, with additional diamond reinforcement on the servo-motors in the joints. Molecular scans showed his body as floored with an artificial adrenaline. There's a complicated matrix of thin metal wires around and through his brain, eyes, mouth, vocal cords, heart, lungs, liver, and each of his glands, which appears to be some sort of futuristic circuitry. There are additional implants inside his retinas, of indiscernible function, and on his heart and lungs, which appear to forcibly normalize their function when his brain is attacked, such as by your sedative and/or left hook."

He looked up from the sheet of paper in his hands.

"That's all I've got, boss."

"Any leads on where the circuitry would have been manufactured?"

"Way ahead of you. I had the Bat Computer run a search - nothing. Probably a custom job, but he couldn't have done this by himself."

"Government?"

"Nothing you've cataloged matched the caliber of this tech, Bats, military, private, or otherwise. The closest thing to it would be Lex Luthor's battlesuit, but even that's a far cry from what we're looking at here, and besides, this is obviously of human design. It's superior, dare I say it, to even anything in your arsenal."

Batman merely glanced over at him and began attaching electrodes to the young man's body.

Dick sighed.

"Bruce, if you hadn't raised me to be logical, I'd say we're looking at the very future of biotech here."

Batman ignored the remark.

"Any energy signatures, radio broadcasts, transmissions?"

"Nothing of note."

"Then how did he know my name?"

"Well, the nature of the ocular implants suggests that they might contain multiple kinds of military grade vision enhancements, including night, x-ray, and thermal vision. It's possible he saw straight through the mask."

"And he called me a resurgent. I'm not re-surging against anything..."

His voice trailed off.

"Except maybe crime..." he muttered wryly, stroking his chin a single time. He then turned to Dick.

"Do we know where Cyborg is right now?"

"Yeah, he's been working with the military to stabilize Amaria."

"Call him in. I want to know if this is more Mother Box technology or something entirely more sinister."

"Um... You don't have jurisdict-"

"Tell him I need a favor, urgently - you know what, never mind, I'll do it myself."


	3. Part III

0200 Hours, the Batwing, Steelhawk Army Base

Batman landed silently just inside the walls of the encampment and disembarked to be greeted by a familiar silhouette.

"Batman. Always a pleasure."

The voice was gruff but not unpleasant.

"Cyborg."

Batman's voice was slightly stiff, but Cyborg stepped forward, a broad grin on his face, and clasped Batman's hand warmly.

"Come aboard. If all goes well we should have you back before noon."

As the ramp shut behind them, Cyborg chuckled under his breath and said, "Why do I feel like that means something's bound to go wrong?"


	4. Part IV

0500 Hours, the Batcave

As Nightwing filled Cyborg in on his portion of the happenings of the previous ten hours, Batman hunched over the Bat Computer. When Nightwing finally finished, Batman gestured for his attention.

"Computer, display a three dimensional model of the Blüdhaven Harbor subject."

"Yes, Master B-"

Batman muted the computer just before it blurted his name out.

A yellow projection appeared in the center of the room, almost directly inside of Nightwing, who promptly moved to the side.

"Set transparency of the implants to zero percent, the rest of the projection to eighty-five percent."

Immediately the spiderweb of cords, rods, and motors came into view.

"Reduce transparency of internal organs, skeletal structure, and nervous system to thirty-five percent."

The young man's internal structures came into focus, and Batman glanced at Cyborg, who circled the projection, examining it closely.

"I'm sure you remember what I told you on the Batwing, so I won't bother explaining this mess. You probably understand it as well as I do. What do you think? Is it Mother Box tech?"

After a lengthy pause, Cyborg replied.

"No."

Batman and Nightwing waited for him to elaborate.

"The design of the occular implant is completely different from my robotic eye, for one. Regardless of the fact that they're more advanced, they should bear similarities to mine if they were Mother Box."

Batman heaved a sigh.

"Great. We have nothing to go off of."

"Have you tried asking him?"

Batman and Nightwing shot each other looks.

"How often do you and your villains sit down for a nice heart-to-heart?" Batman asked, in a slightly confrontational manner.

"What makes you think he's a villain?"

"The fact that he attacked me," Nightwing interjected.

"You said he attacked Deathstroke first," Cyborg shrugged. "I don't know what it's like to be upgraded to a technological monstrosity against my will, but I'd imagine he's scared."

"Why don't you ask him then?" Batman asked quietly.

"Sure. Show me where he is."

Batman nodded crisply and dismissed the projection.

As he and Nightwing exited the room, Nightwing whispered, "When he said he wouldn't know…"

"Yes, that was sarcasm."

"Thought so."

At length, the group arrived at the holding room. Cyborg was instantly disgusted.

"Oh, come on! Get him somewhere comfortable, please, and then leave us alone. Batman, sometimes I worry about you…"

"Don't. Nightwing, would you grab him and move him to one of the interrogation rooms?"

"Yessir."

Cyborg rolled his real eye, but let the two vigilantes be. Batman left almost immediately.

"Sorry… 'Scuse me…" Nightwing muttered as he moved past Cyborg with the young man's unconscious body.

A couple minutes and three hallways later, Cyborg was seated across a table from the young man, and, with a light jostling of the shoulder, the young man came to.

"G'morning, kid. You ok?"

Cyborg caught the brief flare of color in the young man's eyes, exactly as Batman and Nightwing had described, but it faded almost young man rubbed his eyes, just like a little kid waking up from a nap, and nodded.

"Water?"

Cyborg pushed a glass of crystal clear liquid toward the young man, who nodded eagerly and drained the glass.

"What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Huntmaster James Monson, sir."

Cyborg nodded and smiled.

"Is 'Huntmaster' a name or something else?"

"Military title, sir. I don't like it but I'm required to use it."

"Ok. Where're you from?"

"Pureman City Center, sir.""Where's that?"

"Capitol of America, sir. Well…"

"That's Washington D.C."

"I know, sir. Pureman City will be – well, might be, though…"

"What makes you say that?"

"It is in the future I came from."

Cyborg arched an eyebrow.

"Really? Is that where you got your upgrades?"

"Forced military conscription. They- they were supposed to make me= make me kill Superman…"

The young man's innocent eyes contorted into an expression of pure anger.

"If you knew what was good for you you'd take that plasma cannon and blast my head clean open, right here, right now."

Cyborg drew in a deep breath, obviously surprised, then sighed.

"Alright, I'm gonna leave. You take a couple deep breaths, ok? I'm sure we can help you somehow, just hang in there."

As Cyborg left the room, the young man's head jerked sharply to the left.


	5. Part V

0530 Hours, the Batcave

Batman and Nightwing were struggling toward a conclusion by the time Cyborg returned.

"…Suicide Squad. Put him on the Suicide Squad."

"What?" Cyborg asked in disbelief. "You can't be serious! He's just a kid!"

"A kid who beat Deathstroke…" Nightwing muttered.

"Yeah, so were you, ten years back. We didn't throw you at the mercy of Deadshot and Harley Quinn, now, did we?"

Nightwing didn't respond.

"Look, we have proof that he was going to attempt to kill Superman. That's good – or bad – enough to get half the League on his back. We're saving him."

"Batman…" Cyborg ventured, but Batman cut him off.

"I'm serious, it'd be a good place to keep an eye on him."

"And put more heroes in harms way?"

"More villains than heroes."

Nightwing suddenly spoke up.

"He's got a point, though – Are you sure putting a weaponized human being in Amanda Waller's possession is smart?"

"Better than leaving him to his own devices."

"And worse than training him."

Now Cyborg interrupted.

"Little Robin here has a fair point. He could be a brutal threat if not for your training."

"Or because of it. We all know about Red Hood," Nightwing remarked with a wry smirk.

"Whose side are you on?" Batman asked angrily.

Cyborg drew a deep, exasperated breath.

"Look, he's just a kid, and he clearly doesn't want to kill Superman. I think he's fighting an illness, possibly something technological. He's not a killer. Just look at him!"

All three heads slowly turned to the screen that had been displaying the room the young man was in.

It showed only static.


	6. Part VI

I interfaced with the whole Bat Cave system far easier than expected. The nonviolent computer voice in my head narrated the process, just tastefully enough to spare my sanity. I was kind of beginning to like her – it. I mean it.

"And this, Bat-Butt," I muttered, " Will teach you not to slave every door in your secret lair to a single computer."

The camera was still connected to the system after I smashed the visual receptor with one of the cups Cyborg had left. It took only a few moments for the wireless receptors in my hands to connect to the internal network on a secure frequency, and about forty-five seconds for the good cop AI to hack me in. What I heard Batman and his sidekick saying didn't please me.

I hated to leave Cyborg, but Batman and Robin one-point-oh wanted to ship me off to supervillain boot camp. No way was I going in with those guys.

Not that I was scared. I'd done hand to hand with Professor Zoom in the "Brake Night" operation.

Fortunately I wasn't the poor Huntmaster assigned to Barry Allen's Flash. Apparently he got killed so many different ways that the autopsy was focused on finding what didn't happen to him.

The also say that's the second event that got Batman using guns, the first thing since the Superman-Doomsday incident that got him into a weaponized Batmobile. That was a terrifying sight to behold.

Then it hit me – the Batmobile was my ticked out of here, assuming I was where I thought I was.

I sent a quick series of impulses into the system. The first retrieved a map of the entire Batcave, as I expected. The second opened the door of the room I was in. The third shut off the alarm system throughout the cave. The fourth, and easily the most fun to watch the results of, locked the three League members in the safe room they were currently in. The fifth killed the lights.

I tore from the room, heading for the main floor, shedding my overcoat, shirt and practically shredded boots before I went. I grabbed my fake ID and my pocket-watch from the pockets of my overcoat as I did so.

As I rose through the levels, I could feel the pursuit. However, I had taken the liberty of blackening both the actual lighting systems and the perceived lighting on the cameras, which would buy me time.

I couldn't help but feel admiration as I rushed through Batman's trophy room. In spite of being dumb enough to leave Arkham relatively unfunded, he'd won some pretty impressive battles.

Another idea struck me as I passed Deathstroke's sword, nearly identical to the one that had been used to attack me earlier.

I could easily equip myself with the best Gotham's worst had to offer, and he'd likely not know until I was long gone.

The first thing that caught my eye was a suit of unmarked armour. Evidently the villain who had first donned it wasn't enough for the history books. It wasn't a full suit, just a chest plate, codpiece, boots, shin armour, shoulder pads, a left gauntlet, and a helmet, but it was good enough for me. It had a slightly baroque style to it, bit was obviously technologically advance, because thin wires snaked out of their own accord and connected each piece of the rest of the suit as I donned it. The gunmetal silver color of the armour matched my black cargo pants and undershirt nicely, and the AI set about hacking the suit's on-board computers as soon as I got the helmet on.

The second thing I grabbed was a little more important in terms of history – one of Deadshot's earliest wrist mounted guns. It fit my right arm perfectly, complimenting the armour's left gauntlet.

The third and final item I snatched was a long black cape with a collar. It was unlabeled, shoved carelessly into a corner, practically out of sight. I connected the twin magnetic clasps to the front of the armour, and then could barely budge them.

I caught my reflection in a massive, polished coin.

I looked fantastic.

As I left the trophy room, again at full speed, the lights flickered back on. That meant that Batman had escaped the holding room and to a secondary Batcomputer terminal.

I redoubled my pace.

Fixing the camera feeds would take several more minutes at best, but I wasn't risking being caught again.

Less than five minutes of running later, I reached the main floor. I could see the Batcomputer's main terminal sprawling across one wall, bat themed vehicles parked across the open floor.

I briefly considered taking the Batwing, but decided that overriding its autopilot and slaving it to my own consciousness would waste valuable time after booting.

I shot out one of the Batmobile's windows with my stolen wrist-gun instead and leaped through without slowing down. I immediately splayed my fingers across the on-board computer, waiting for the AI to hack and network with it.

In under a minute, the on-board computer was slaved directly to my mind. I tore out of the garage at top speed. As I flew around the corner, I caught a glimpse of the trio behind me.

Cyborg was clearly impressed by my efficiency, even if he didn't approve. Nightwing stood to his left, trying to suppress a smirk. Batman stood in front of both of them both, his face an expression somewhere between rage and disbelief, evident even through his rubberized cowl.

I saved the shot to permanent memory.


	7. Part VII

Batman growled under his breath, and Nightwing scoffed.

"Come on, Bats, don't you have some way of tracking it?"

A withering glare caused him to raise his hands in self defense. Batman then stalked over to the Batwing and then took off in pursuit.


	8. Part VIII

0545 hours, Gotham Suburbs

The Batmobile tore out of Gotham at upwards of ninety miles an hour, deftly dodging the few civilians already on the road at the break of dawn.

"Ten miles to city limits. Then turbo."

"Affirmed."

It was barely six minutes before the turbo boost kicked in. Huntmaster's face, visible through the helmet's graphene HUD, was evidence enough of the sheer g-force he felt as the car more than tripled its speed.

He grit his teeth and refused to ease up on the pedals.

"Gotta ditch the car…" he muttered as soon as the afterburner cut out.

He cast his eyes avout, seeking for a place to hide the car, but then grinned with a better idea.

"Intelligence one, calculate actions to induce controlled crash and ejection."

"Affirmed. Artificial muscle strokes determined."

The reply scrolled across the helmet feed, rather than playing in his head.

"That's nw. Hacked the armour systems, then?"

"Affirmed."

"Give me a run down, he said, unclipping his seat belt, "But first, crash the car."

As if involuntarily, he jerked the wheel hard to the left, cutting between the gas and the brake. After a couple seconds of skidding, he gunned the afterburner again.

The car jumped to the side of the road, maintaining its forward momentum as well. Its nose clipped a tree ever so slightly, and the read of the car left the ground as it spun. When it came down again, it started the entire car rolling.


	9. Part IX

Batman caught up with the Batmobile right as it left the city. He watched from high above as the turbo boost fired, and smiled. There was no way the boy would be able to steer at that speed.


	10. Part X

At the apex of the car's roll, Huntmaster surged through the already busted window, using the car's momentum to fling himself beyond the path of destruction. He bounced and then rolled nearly a hundred yards, landing face down, the Batmobile screeching to a halt a few feet shy of his position.

He rolled over on to his back, staring up at the sky, just in time to catch a rough silhouette across the moon – the Batwing.

He smiled. Now that the Batwing was on, he could hack it.

Batman had brought him a great prize indeed.

Huntmaster rolled over to his hands and knees and slowly stood, walking away from the overturned Batmobile. A matter of moments later, another silhouette whooshed to the ground before him. He calmly raised his hands above his head.

"It takes quite a man to jump out of a perfectly good airplane."

"It takes another man entirely to steal my car."

"And why's that?"

"Because I'm Batman."

"Brilliant reason. Look, you caught me, red handed. All I wanted was to be left alone but it looks like it;s the Suicide Squad for me, eh?" the young man retorted, with reserved anger.

Batman scowled and hit a button on his belt, firing off a length of line and tying the young man's hands.

"Oi! I was surrendering!"

"Alfred, bring down the Batwing."

"Yessir."

In a matter of moments the Batwing was behind Batman, and the Dark Knight spun with a flourish and gestured for the young man to follow. He did so – closer proximity meant better hacking.

When Batman was about a foot away, Alfred spoke up again.

"Sir, I seem to have lost-"

Huntmaster suddenly had control. He fired off all the Batwing's sonic weaponry at once, creating a shock wave that blasted Batman over his head. With lighting reflexes he cut the Batline with the blades on Batman's gauntlets, freeing his hands.

"-control."

He quickly turned, an orange light growing in his eyes, to find Batman already upright, and threw a punch beore Batman had the chance. It was a near identical replica of the punch he had thrown earlier in the Batcave, but with one major difference.

Batman attempted an identical defense. However, the punch curved more than the previous one, its trajectory not meant to hit Batman, but rather to spin Huntmaster and then take advantage of Batman being off balance. He threw his legs around Batman's neckand slammed his head into the ground. He then quickly reached down and grabbed a small knife from Batman's belt – the same one that had tranquilized him earlier – and jammed it into Batman's side.

The vigilante fell limp.

Huntmaster stood up, breathing heavily, the light subsiding from his eyes. He reached down to Batman's still active comms.

"Mr Pennyworth, I'm afraid you'll have to come collect Master Bruce. I need to borrow the Batwing., I'm sorry.

With that, he jumped into the Batwing and took off.


	11. Part XI

Screaming across the sky at several times the speed of sound, my thoughts finally caught up to me.

I had no idea what I was doing.

For one thing, I was headed back towards Gotham. I suppose heading South was a good thing, but I was going to pass straight over Cyborg and Nightwing again.

In addition, I was headed straight towards Flash and Superman, which was bad for them, which meant it was bad for me. Wonder Woman or Green Lantern could probably stop me if something bad happened, but I highly doubted they'd be nice about it, given Nightwing's innovative "blunt force trauma" solution.

Before I could formulate a solid plan, my reverie was interrupted by a crackle over the radio, followed by Commissioner Gordon's rough voice.

"Oh, Batman, thank heavens you're already in the air. Something happened, probably Deathstroke resisting incarceration or something like that, and now half of Arkham is loose. Things are not looking good. We're looking at Joker, Ivy, Quinn…."

I stopped listening. Nightwing could handle the issue. I had bigger fish to fry.

As Gordon droned on, I searched for the right button to shut him up while plotting a course that would skirt Midway and Central Cities and steer well clear of Metropolis, intending to make for a small Southern town for supplies before hopping over to a British hamlet. Hopefully living in the middle of nowhere on a different continent from the Justice League Headquarters would buy me a few years' peace.

Unfortunately, I would have time for neither.

About three miles out of Gotham, mere moments before I would have passed over the city, a sniper round tore through the fuselage of the Batwing. A second, incendiary round followed almost immediately, detonating the fuel tank. The resultant explosion flipped the jet almost thirty degrees below the horizontal.

The resultant forces and sudden air resistance very nearly tore the Batwing apart. As it was, I lost nearly all forward momentum and plummeted towards Gotham harbour.

I wasn't too scared of the fall. I had seen the footage of Batman climbing free of the wreck after Doomsday blasted him out of the sky enough times to have faith in the Batwing's crash survivability. I was concerned, however, about who would be waiting on the ground. The list of humans and metahumans who could have made those two shots dead on was relatively small; in fact, I could only think of one.

I had about fifteen seconds to ponder the shortcomings of stealing Batman's vehicles while in a city full of individuals who hate Batman.

However, I had to hand it to Mr. Wayne, or at least to Lucius Fox. The plane's wings and nose crumpled like a stunt car, and, as the gunship rolled to a halt, I was hardly even stunned.

As I dangled, upside down, I picked up voices approaching the wreckage.

The first one shot a bolt of ice through my chest. One of the very first actions taken by the Pureman government had been to silence that particular voice forever.

joker.

"Well, it looks like the Bat has finally deigned to land!"

A significantly more grounded voice, the one I had originally expected to hear, responded.

"That's cause anything'll land once I put enough bullets in it. You gonna pay up or what?"

That was definitely Deadshot.

"Ah ah ahh, we're not paying until we're sure he's dead."

Joker's voice started off playful but terminated on a terrifyingly serious note. A tittering laugh, doubtless on Joker's arm, shattered the air.

"Yeah, silly, Puddin' can't pay a hit man if the target hasn't been hit!"

Thank you, Harley, I need more enemies.

Deadshot growled.

"Yeah, but you see, you called on me to kill the toy plane, not the Bat, and if he's NOT dead, then I don't wanna be here when he gets up, you feel?"

I stared out of the slit of window that wasn't pressed against the ground. I could only see the bottoms of feet, but I identified no fewer than seven villains. I could only hope that the Huntmaster program had files on them all.

If I was correct, I was dealing with Killer Croc, Joker, Harley Quinn, Deadshot, Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Riddler. I should have listened to Gordon, then I might have known.

There was an eighth distinct voice, but it was fuzzy, as if significantly further away. It was unidentifiable and didn't seem to fit with the flow of conversation. I ignored it.

At length, when Batman failed to materialize in a suitably dramatic fashion, Joker issued a few threatening orders, and Killer Croc shoved the remains of the Batwing upright. Obviously the ringleader, Joker curtly instructed him to extract the Bat and, a moment later, a hulking, reptilian fist smashed through the glass and tore the seat I was in, harness and all, from the cockpit. As he did, I reached down and smacked the harness release, and was flung to the far side of the group rather than hanging in Croc's hand.

I landed in a pool of shadow between two tanker ships, cornered by water on three sides and villains on the fourth.

I shook myself, getting to my feet, and instantly assumed a combat stance.

There was a moment of pure, unadulterated tension as the seven turned to look at where I had landed.

Almost immediately the War AI in my head started trying to take over. I winced slightly as I tried to fight it. Each of the seven assailants was outlined in turn in and orange glow, identified, and deemed a worthy opponent, which ruled out running.

Only Poison Ivy and Croc's fighting styles were in my database. Crap.

Joker advanced on me, the others arrayed three on each side of him. Deadshot kept both of his wrist guns raised, maintaining a slight crouch. Riddler and Harley slapped their respective walking stick and baseball bat against their palms, almost perfectly in time with each other. As Catwoman drew her whip, Croc dropped to all fours.

:Baty, Batsy, Batsy… I thought you'd learned your lesson! After I took care of poor, poor Mister Todd I thought…"

"Screw it," I murmured. Both AIs seemed to look at me, confused. "War, you're in control."

He – I meant it – laughed maniacally.

The sound escaped my own lips as a disturbing chuckle.

All seven stopped dead in their tracks. Evidently disturbing chuckles were not something Batman let out often.

"Batsy?" Harley Quinn asked, evidently confused.

Then my fist slammed into her face, specifically, her forehead.

She dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Before any of the other villains could react, my foot shot her baseball bat into Deadshot's legs, incapacitating him for several moments.

Catwoman moved first, her whip coiling around my throat. Joker, enraged, tried to punch me, but my feet planted themselves on his shoulders, knocking him onto Deadshot and buying me several more bulletless moments.

I was amazed at how effectively the computer ran my body.

As I fell, my body twisted, trying to wrench the whip from Catwoman's grasp but ultimately only coiling it tighter. I couldn't see Riddler anywhere, but I could barely see anything anyways.

As I landed on the ground, the whip dragged me backwards into a cloud of fumes, or rather, spores. Clawing at the whip, I managed to engage my respiratory override, keeping myself from inhaling too many of the spores, but I started to feel drowsey in spite of the technology's efforts. I looked up, into a set of venomous green eyes.

"Sorry honey, but, Batman or not, nobody touches Harl."

"Go… Cry me… A river… Build a… Bridge… And get over it!"

I finally managed to pry the whip loose and my right foot kicked her in the gut hard enough to send her sprawling. I scrambled to my feet, increasingly unsteady, and staggered from the group.

I made it maybe two steps vefore Croc lifted me off the ground.

"Joker, zis isn't Batman…" he growled.

He slammed me on the ground and the four remaining villains crowded around. Black began to gather at the edges of the orange tinting my vision.

"I dunno who this kid is but I'm putting a bullet through his skull right now!" Deadshot spat, but Catwoman smacked his arm down.

Joker crouched down, directly above my head, as Poison Ivy spitefully dusted something over my face. I felt a rash spreading instantly.

"Y'see, kid, no one, NO ONE, touches my girl…"

He stood up, twirling theatrically, gesticulating madly.

"We might have let you go, seeing as you're not the Bat, but you had to go and do something stupid! If you hadn't been clowning around… Ah, but it's too late now."

He turned around, six shot revolver aimed at my head, when he was suddenly disarmed by a throwing knife.

"What the…?" he turned on the spot as an orange and black clad figure landed behind him.

Deadshot brought up his guns but was promptly knocked off his feet by an explosion directly in front of his chest. As he hit the ground, I could already tell he was unconscious.

As my own consciousness faded, I barely managed to process each of the villain surrounding me being disabled.

The last thing I remembered was a masked face picking me up.


	12. Part XII

0630 hours, Wayne Manor

Bruce Wayne came to, spitting blood.

"Alfred, what the heck was that?"

"It would appear that the young man got the best of you not once, but twice, sir. He was very polite about it."

Bruce swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.

"How can you call that polite? He stole my car, then my plane… He's got heck to…"

"With all due respect, Bruce," Nightwing interrupted, slowly moving into the room, "We've got a bigger problem."

Bruce looked at his protege as if he had a second head.

"We have a time travelling super hero assassin on our hands, and you think we have a 'bigger problem'?"

"Cyborg and I have been bust. We attempted to map the energy frequencies that corresponded to…" He consulted the tablet he was holding. "Huntmaster's arrival in our time.

"And?"

"Well, we have reason to believe that he will never kill anyone important, because we had help in the form of a second occurrence."

"When? Where?"

"Arkham."

"What?!"

"Sir, I insist that you rest," Alfred interrupted.

"I already got some friends of mine to handle it, Bruce," Nightwing reassured him.

Bruce's head fell into his hands.

"This is insane. Absolutely insane. Have any of the rest of the League been informed?"

"No sir. We figured it would be best to leave them out of this, rather than start risking lives."

"Good… I think."

"In other news, Deadshot took the Batwing out of the sky over the harbour about forty five seconds ago."

"So Huntmaster is still in town?"

"We have every reason to believe so."

"We might contain this yet."

"Like we were saying, no need to fret. You should rest."

Fantastic.

"Of course, that assumes we can handle both hunters."

Alfred interjected again.

"Bruce, rest now. You can clean this up in a couple hours.

"Cyborg and I will keep working," Nightwing agreed.

"Fine."


	13. Part XIII

0645 hours, Arkham Asylum

The pod that had smashed through Arkham's security computers popped open after more than half an hour of steaming. Its engines were still cycling down. This one was different, more streamlined than the one Huntmaster had arrived in.

Inside, oblivious to the breakout that had gone into effect around it, a solitary, muscular figure in cryogenic freeze began to thaw.


	14. Part XIV

1215 hours, a nondescript hotel suite

The microwave dinged, and a pretty young woman retrieved the chicken soup from therein, adding salt and pepper to taste. She might have been drop dead gorgeous, with a little effort. Her hair was a mess of golden and platinum curls, cascading down around her shoulders. Her face was petite and smeared with the remnants of lazily removed makeup. Her figure was nice, but completely obscured by the overlarge hoodie and sweatpants she was wearing.

When she was pleased with the soup she called, "Honey, soup's ready!"

A young man with an average build poked his head in.

"He's still not awake. Leave him?"

She shrugged.

"We could just eat in there."

He returned the shrug and grabbed the bowl of soup, taking it to the other room, and she followed him with three bowls and three spoons.

She set the bowls on the coffee table and sat on the couch, beside the head of a prone figure – Huntmaster. The young man flipped on the television and began serving the soup.

The young woman began running her hands through Huntmaster's hair.

"Ivy sure did a number on him…"

"I'll say she did. I don't think I've ever seen her being so brutal before."

"Since you're in Gotham so very often."

"I grew up here."

"I forget that you were trained by the greatest mercenary in the world."

"Somehow the armour doesn't remind you…"

The young man set two bowls of soup on her side of the table and, sitting down in an armchair, set one in his own lap, digging in immediately.

The smell brought Huntmaster around, slowly. He reached up to rub his eyes, and the young woman dropped her spoon back in her bowl and smacked his hand away.

"Don't want to do that, sugar. You'll make it worse."

Huntmaster forced his eyes open.

"What…? Who?"

"We're the people who saved you from Gotham's worst, sweetheart," she said, helping him to sit up. "I'm Belle Arisa, also known as the Bombshell Blonde, and that over there is Drake Orson, also known as Sync."

I took the liberty of dissembling, cleaning, and reassembling your guns," Drake interjected," As well as some basic maintenance on your armour. I don't know where you got it, but that suit is beautiful."

"Thanks… Where am I?"

"An unmarked hotel in Gotham. No trace. We brought you in through the window."

Huntmaster looked up at Belle incredulously.

"Why?"

"Nightwing requested that we keep you on the down low."

"Ah… Why can't I feel my face?"

"Ivy messed you up good. Fortunately we came prepared for her, so we were able to get medicine on you quickly enough to counteract the effects, but it'll be numb for another hour or two."

Huntmaster nodded.

She twisted such that she was coyly sitting on her own leg, lifting a spoonful of broth to Huntmaster's lips.

"Eat."

After he swallowed the spoonful, Belle handed the bowl and he obediently got to work on it.


	15. Part XV

1300 hours, the Batcave

A rejuvenated Batman strode towards the central Batcomputer, determination etched into his features. Nightwing smiled up at him, glad to have his mentor back.

"Good to see you're up, Batsy," Cyborg grinned.

Dick simply nodded, then got to business.

"With the help of a couple friends frm Bludhaven, I've managed to handle the Arkham escapees. They've been interred in an alternative facility until Arkham can be repaired. Now we're preparing for whatever is going to come out of that pod."

"Good work, Nightwing. I guess I underestimated you."

Nightwing fought back a blush and took Bruce to the side.

"Bats, do you trust me?"

"You know I don't-"

"Do you trust me?"

Batman sighed.

"If I were to trust anyone, it would be you."

"I think we need to bring in Huntmaster. As an ally."

Bruce stared at his protege for several seconds.

"Are you sure about this, Dick?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Yes, I am."

"Then let's do it. And if you get my city wrecked…"

"I know."

"Very well."


	16. Part XVI

1315 hours, Arkham Asylum

The figure in the pod had nearly thawed entirely. He – it was definitely a he – was both broader and taller than Huntmaster, with visible technological augmentations. As the last of the ice receded, his eyes flickered red. An audible voice from the eyepiece over his left eye intoned, "Beginning system boot."


	17. Part XVII

1400 hours, a nondescript hotel suite

Lunch long concluded, Huntmaster had begun plotting his next move. Neither Bombshell Blonde nor Sync had appeared in his databases, which unnerved him. If nothing else, there should have been at least a historical footnote, but, on the bright side, it meant that the war voice in his head had not forced him to fight them yet. It had remained dormant for a good thirty five minutes after he had come to, but even once it had powered on, it had stayed out of his way.

He had begun to don the equipment he had stolen from Batman when Sync approached him, wearing a single armoured gauntlet that was projecting a screen into the air.

"Oh good, you're up and moving about. Is your face doing better?"

"Yes, much, thank you."

"I've got Nightwing on the line and he wants to talk to you. Do you have a moment?"

Huntmaster fitted the second gun setup to his wrist.

"I suppose."

Sync turned his wrist outward so that Huntmaster could see Nightwing on the screen.

"Nightwing."

"Afternoon. I'm just going to call you Huntmaster to save time, ok?"

"Sounds fine."

"Another pod has landed and we believe it is a follow up from whoever sent you. Cyborg and I believe that you retain at least some control but that whatever this next threat is has probably had that glitch, for lack of a better word, resolved. We need your help to stand a chance of defeating it."

Huntmaster cursed under his breath.

"Stay in your cave. I'll handle it."

"But-"

"That's my answer."

Huntmaster turned away, sliding on his helmet. Drake terminated the link.

"Are you sure about this, kid?"

"Deadly."

Drake nodded.

"Alright. I wish you luck."

"Thanks."

With that, Huntmaster strode through the door. A couple minutes later, Belle came into the bedroom to find Drake in his full suit of black and orange plate armour.

"What are you doing?"

"That kid is about to need more of our help, and I don't intend to keep him waiting."

Sync sheathed his glaive on his back just as Belle pulled him into a kiss.

"This is why I love you," she said when she finally let him go. "Let me suit up."


	18. Part XVIII

1415 hours, Arkham Asylum

The ice was entirely melted now, and the darkened figure inside stood up, boot complete, now wearing full armour. He glanced around, fixating on the one boat that was still intact and present. Exuding quiet menace, he strode towards it. Something serious was about to go down.


	19. Part XIX

1420 hours, the Batcave

Unlike Batman, Nightwing usually packed light, even when he was planning on a fight. He strapped his rods to his back and was already prepared to go. Cyborg grabbed his shoulder.

"Nightwing, you're sure you want to do this?"

"Of course!"

"He said he was going to handle this."

"I know. Since when do I know when to leave well enough alone?"

Cyborg shrugged in acknowledgement

"I know the Titans have been disbanded for some time, but do you want to call some of them in? Maybe Raven or Starfire…"

"No. We're not putting them in danger."

Cyborg laughed.

"But I'm sacrificable?"

"No, I have a hunch."

At that moment, Bruce, back in costume, joined them over the intercom.

"I've got the Batmobile working."

"Br- You're up?" Nightwing asked incredulously.

"What made you think I would actually rest?"

Nightwing sighed.

"Fair enough. You're going to insist on coming with us then?"

"Of course."

Cyborg and Nightwing nodded at each other, then Cyborg broke into a massive smile.

"Teen Titans-"

"Don't say it…."

"G-"

Batman interrupted.

"No. Get down here or I'm leaving without you."


	20. Part XX

1500 hours, Gotham City

Huntmaster was out of his element.

Civilians thronged the streets, every square foot of pavement bearing a car, an individual, a vendor's cart or an open air table. Even in the early afternoon, flashing lights assailed him from all directions. Hailing from an era where public transit was all but mandatory, he could hardly navigate, let alone fight the crowd. He was swept along an all but meaningless path the second he found his way out of the hotel.

No wonder the Dark Knight preferred to work after hours.

Eventually he managed to snatch a tourist pamphlet and slip into a dark alley, away from the crowd, and orient himself. After steeling himself again, he shoved back into the street and forced his way toward the harbor where he had just gotten himself beaten.

"They don't know…" he thought to himself. "They don't understand the importance of the fight that is about to take place."

Eventually he found his way into the subway and towards the harbor, ignoring the confused stares. A pick-pocket tried something, and Huntmaster deftly broke the kid's finger.

No one touched him again.

The gravity of the situation pressed Huntmaster's spirits. Whoever won today… He lost.

He shook the thought off.

He glanced around. Everyone on the train deserved to live. Perhaps they weren't great people, but surely they had families, maybe friends and neighbors, all things that he had long lost.

He couldn't sanction the thought of these people losing theirs.

After several minutes he emerged from the subway in a less crowded area, pushing ever closer to the harbor.


	21. Part XXI

1530 Hours, Batcave Hangar

"Batman, you realize that it's rush hour, right…?" Nightwing asked.

"And the Batwing is out of commission…" Batman muttered.

"Cycles?"

The dynamic duo looked at Cyborg.

"I assume you two have Batcycles or something?"

Batman shrugged.

"It's not ideal, Batman, but it's our best option."

"Hmm."

Batman turned with a fluorish and, glancing at each other, the two former Teen Titans followed.


	22. Part XXII

1545 Hours, Gotham Harbour

Huntmaster was waiting as the last boat drifted aimlessly in towards the dock.

"Hail humanity," he called, his voice firm, and the distant response came.

"Hail purity."

The voice was flat, very much synthesized. Huntmaster didn't recognize it.

"Identify rank."

"Headhunter Mark Seven-Point-Two-Two."

Huntmaster stiffened. He hadn't heard that designation previously and there was a very good chance it was an upgraded version of him.

The boat drifted slowly, almost lazily, into view, coasting around a large cargo container, and Huntmaster got his first look at his opponent. He was about seven feet tall and heavily armoured. Seams were visible around his wrists, shoulders, torso, and thighs, though Huntmaster couldn't tell if it was just where the armour closed or if they would serve a more sinister purpose. The armour was a dark gunmetal grey, and lights flashed across his form, indicating changes in pressure and every other mechanical statistic imaginable. His face was largely obscured by his armoured faceplate, slightly illuminated by the glowing orange HUD beneath the tinted visor. He stood rigidly, as if fully inhuman.

Huntmaster steeled himself.

"Headhunter, eh? I can't let you do what I know you're going to try to do."

The Headhunter's gaze snapped upwards, locking on Huntmaster.

"You have failed. I will succeed."

The voice then flickered and was replaced by a menacing feminine one, sarcastic brightness oozing over Huntmaster like syrup.

"Huntmaster Monson, how good to see you again! We assume you have been doing your best to eliminate the metahuman threat?"

Huntmaster stared down, unresponsive.

"No? Well, consider your employment terminated."

Huntmaster cocked an eyebrow.

"Harsh, but I'm still not going to let you do this."

"Have fun with our reinforcements."

The Headhunter seemed to take back over its own body, and its left arm came up, a blaster of sorts sliding out of one of the seams in the left arm.

Huntmaster's eyes went wide, and he rolled backwards instinctively. A series of shots just barely went wide, and then he was out of line of sight. A series of alarms flashed on his optical implants, his eyes pulsing red, blue, orange, and yellow.

"Alright," he growled, "That just isn't fair."

He flinched as a resounding klong vibrated through the dock, the sounds of a speedboat being capsized playing out a tense soundtrack.

"Fine. Let's get this sonuvagun… A.I.s, both of you, front and center. War, leave me lucid but guide actions. Peace, keep me updated on system statuses and potential unorthodox options. Go."

For the first time since his induction into the Huntmaster Program, James Monson gelled perfectly with the intelligences planted in his head. In a single fluid motion, he flipped over the container he was behind, kicking Headhunter in the chest, knocking him back. As Headhunter stabilized himself, Huntmaster dodged around him, out of the line of fire. He smashed a fist into the back of one of Headhunter's knees, driving him to the ground. Then, with flair, he place Deadshot's firearm behind Headhunter's head.

"This is my world, Pureman. Keep. Your. Hands. Off."

As he went to depress the trigger, however, Headhunter's hand snapped around, grabbing Huntmaster's leg. As he was jerked around, Huntmaster's shot went wide. He cursed and attempted to sweep his opponent off his feet, but Headhunter stood up, impervious.

As Huntmaster desperately fought to get loose, Headhunter clasped either side of his head, holding him aloft. A painful pressure began to permeate his alloy reinforced hull.

"No, Huntmaster Monson, it is humanity's world, and you are no longer just human."


	23. Part XXIII

The woman's voice was openly mocking now. Huntmaster consigned himself to a headless grave.

"Headhunter," indeed.

Then a light thwang snapped him up. A Batarang had implanted itself in the chink between Headhunter's chest plate and neck brace.

Huntmaster braced himself.

Like a swarm of wasps, electricity danced through and across Headhunter's body, some spreading to Huntmaster as well. Both dropped, fighting for strength. As Huntmaster pushed himself upright, vision swimming and A.I.s going crazy, Nightwing swooped past and scooped him up, dropping into cover.

"You okay, kid?"

Huntmaster struggled to look up, to identify his savior. His entire body twitched at random as electricity continued to dance through his form, triggering the servos attached to his skeleton.

"Y- yeah…?"

"Good. Stay down, the electricity will diffuse in a minute. We've got this."

Huntmaster nodded, curling into a ball. He was fighting a raging headache and struggling not to cry. A moment later Nightwing was gone, back in the fray.

The female voice from before echoed through the harbor as he did so, Headhunter recuperating quickly.

"Batman and the original Robin! What an amazing gift, Huntmaster, you shouldn't have! You two will be easy to crush."

"Not if reinforcements come through!"

Nightwing whacked Headhunter's neck, spinning around him effortlessly.

His remark was immediately justified, though not by the people he expected. Bombshell Blonde and Sync arrived just as Cyborg got into position and began to lay down covering fire. Between the lovely couple and the grown boy wonder, Headhunter seemed to stall. Less than fifteen seconds was enough to drop him to his knees.

Then he scanned.

The pulses shot out in rapid bursts of light, the strobe effect inducing nausea in Huntmaster even behind cover. After ten seconds he stood and one hand clamped shut around Bombshell Blonde's wrist, the other around Sync's at a moment that should not have been possible.

He twisted, sheer strength snapping Sync's armour, and forced the two vigilantes to drop their weapons. Then he swung them in front of his frame. His chest plate split, then opened. Two gun barrels presented themselves. Nightwing screamed in outrage but Headhunter spun and kicked him away.

Then, as if in slow motion, he brought the two vigilantes up to finish the execution. They made eye contact, terrified, and reached for each others' free hand.

Their fingers never made it.


	24. Part XXIV

Even as they fell, the woman directing Headhunter laughed.

"Don't you see? Resistance is futile! Bru-"

Cyborg nailed him in the face with a salvo of plasma.

"Not cool, lady!"

As Headhunter staggered, the voice gasped in excitement.

"We get Cyborg too?!"

"No, you don't!"

Nightwing jumped onto the Headhunter's back, jamming one of Sync's blades into every chink he could find. Headhunter swung him off, hands clasped around his neck.

"Do it!" Nightwing spat. "It won't change anything."

"Gladly, Mr. Greyson."

As Cyborg took aim for another salvo, a motorcycle roared around the corner. Its rider wore a red helmet and a grey hoodie over body armour, guns strapped to his thighs.

He wrenched the bike to the side and jumped clear at the last second, causing it to crash and roll, distracting Headhunter. Even before he landed, he had both guns out and was unleashing a hail of bullets on Headhunter, pinpoint shots shredding finger joints, forcing him to drop Nightwing.

"Red Hood, I have never been so glad to see you!"

"Can it, Nightwing."

Batman himself dropped down behind Headhunter, and the three martial artists spread out around him. Cyborg targeted his face, and then the bats struck as one.


	25. Part XXV

Finally, Huntmaster was able to stand. The A.I.s came back online, and he jumped over the boxes he was hidden behind. He rushed towards the fight, stooping to grab knives from beside Bombshell.

A cursory analysis by the Peace A.I. revealed explosives hidden inside them.

He smirked, ever so slightly.

As he looked back up, he saw Headhunter send Red Hood flying. Impervious to Cyborg, Nightwing, and Batman's attacks, he strode towards the downed Robin, who was scrambling for one of his pistols.

"Hey! You want me!"

All five combatants turned to Huntmaster. Without looking back, Headhunter leveled his wrist blaster at Red Hood, but was interrupted by another shock Batarang.

Huntmaster sprinted over as Headhunter dropped to his knees, jittering with shocks. He began to slam home knives, maximizing the few moments that the opponent would be stunned for. He knew the knives themselves wouldn't do much, but enough of them could.

When he had only one knife left, Headhunter caught him around the waist.

"Huntmaster, I cannot believe-"

"STOP REFERRING TO ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR F***ING TOYS!"

Huntmaster slammed the final knife deep into Headhunter's neck and depressed the button on the handle. A rapid beeping filled the air for about two seconds, and then there was no sound.

The world turned to flame as the knives detonated all around Headhunter's body.

At the exterior edge of the blast, Huntmaster was thrown a hundred or more yards, a ragdoll tumbling end over end and slamming into the ground, barely conscious and on fire.

At the center of so many blasts, mostly contained within the armour, Headhunter was thoroughly immolated, the armour falling to the ground, a hollow, sparking, ash-filled shell.

Nightwing and Batman rushed to Red Hood, who pushed them off and stood up on his own. Then they turned to where Huntmaster fell. They arrived to found a bloodied and burnt James Monson being cradled in Cyborg's arms. His helmet was off. His eyes were completely devoid of unnatural color, staring off into the middle distance.

He was obviously no longer all there.

"Good job… G- Guys…"

He gave a weak half smile, the right side of his face seared beyond movement. His breathing was beyond shallow. Nightwing knelt beside him.

"Kid, that was crazy! Don't do anything like that ever again!"

He grabbed Huntmaster's wrist to check for his pulse, preparing to heal the boy

"I.. Don't…. Think I… Will…. Ever get… The ch…. Chance again…"

Huntmaster looked down at his wrist, and everyone else followed suit. His hands and feet were beginning to turn transparent, to fade.

"You know… What could happen… Now… Stop it… Don't let Pureman…. Come… To power…" He laughed. "I'm… Fading… That means you've… Already won…"

He smiled up at Cyborg.

"Thank you… For believing that… There could… Still be… Good in me…"

Cyborg grit his teeth and nodded, fighting back tears to smile.

"Of course!" James nodded, the simplest expression of peace on his face. Cyborg brushed James' hair from his forehead as the lower pieces of armour, on his shins and forearms, fell through his now nonexistent form.

"Thank you… All… Keep… The world… Safe… For me…"

His biceps and thighs were gone, then his torso. A satisfied whisper escaped his lips.

"I am… Not bad…"

Then he was gone. Cyborg and Nightwing locked eyes.

"Br- Bats? I think that this equipment deserves a new, better place in the Batcave. A place of honor. They aren't trophies anymore," Nightwing voiced softly.

Bruce nodded.

"I would agree. But we have other things to worry about now."

He looked towards Metropolis.

"The world needs to prepare to defend itself against this threat. Metahumans and humans can coexist. We'll make it happen."

Cyborg grabbed the helmet and examined it.

"We'll make it happen for him."


End file.
